


Honestly OK?

by Celticas



Series: Soulmate Songs [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Army Ranger Phil Coulson, Human Disaster Clint Barton, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Young Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-19
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-04-25 05:31:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14371965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celticas/pseuds/Celticas
Summary: Walking into the Bar that night, Phil never expected for things to go down the way they did.A blood soaked first meeting was not what he expected from his Long soul-mark. After getting to know his soulmate there is no other way it could have gone down.





	1. Meeting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CupFullofCats](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CupFullofCats/gifts).



A young Clint Barton hated his soul-words, he had seen the hell his mother lived in with her soul-match and had no intention of tying himself to someone to end up like her. Unfortunately, they provided no context for him to be able to avoid a situation they would occur in "Well, this isn't what I was expecting." could be anything. The letters themselves were well formed and in his teen years decided his match was educated, which only made him want to avoid them even more, why would someone with education be interested in him?

 ~

For most people it was easy enough to hide their soul-words until the meeting happened; a strategically placed scrap of cloth, a wide bracelet, not taking their shirt off in public. For Phil Coulson it wasn't so easy, his words ran down the back of his left calf. For his whole life he had not been able to wear shorts, swimming was particularly problematic. When he joined the Army it became even more of an issue, between the shared accommodation and long stretches out field he had  not been able to stop his team from catching glimpses of the words. Luckily, the handwriting was bad enough that the letters were not easily distinguishable. 

~

At only 22 Clint had already been working as a gun for hire and assassin for 6 years. He was good at it and most of the time enjoyed his work. This was not one of his times. The Irish mob was paying him to remove one of their weapons suppliers. An Army sergeant at Fort Benning who they had heard was inches from giving them up to an Army investigation. So Clint had made his way to the edges of Columbus, Georgia to the sergeants favourite bar and taken as job as their entertainment to give himself a reason to be hanging around the bar. He had been singing at the damn place for three weeks and still hadn't even spotted the sergeant. While growing up in the circus had given him a stage presence strong enough to pull it off, he hated singing.

~

At 22 Phil Coulson was the youngest sergeant in the history of his unit. His promotion ceremony had been earlier that day and his team had insisted they go out and celebrate even though they were scheduled to deploy in two days and he had a pile of paperwork almost as tall as him waiting. They had dragged him to the local army watering hole with promises that the bar had finally employed a decent singer and that they would let him go after two rounds.

He walked into the dark building to the sounds of a soft guitar being strumming the opening cords of the next song.

~

Clint was just starting on his set's second to last song when the prettiest pair of blue eyes walked through the doors. Catching those eyes he smirked and opened his mouth;

"I just want to feel safe in my own skin

I just want to be happy again

I just want to feel deep in my own world

But I'm so lonely I don't even want to be with myself anymore

On a different day if I was safe in my own skin

Then I wouldn't feel lost and so frightened

But this is today and I'm lost in my own skin

And I'm so lonely I don't even want to be with myself anymore

And I'm so lonely I don't even want to be with myself anymore

And I'm so lonely I don't even want to be with myself anymore

(How I feel, oh oh)

I just want to feel safe in my own skin

I just want to be happy again"

Normally when this song came up Clint closed his eyes and got lost in the words. Lyrics that meant so much to him, seemed to speak to the feelings he couldn't admit to, even to himself. This time he just stared into the pretty blue eyes. He was watching stood transfixed, staring back. A look of absolute, slack jawed shock, mixed in with a glimmer of happiness? Mixed in.

The opening of the bar's dark wooden doors behind Clint's sudden fascination. Pushing into the room was the mark he had been waiting for, a short man with a nose broken at least three times, no one else would have looked twice at the sergeant. One more song to finish of the set, find a way to lure the mark out of the open and then disappear. Or maybe take the night to say hello to those blue eyes and _then_ disappear.

~

Those were his words! Holy Shit! Those were his words being crooned by the extremely attractive blonde guitarist. For the length of the sad ballad he stood transfixed. It seemed as if the song was for him, or to him. As the song ended a draft of air from the door opening behind him and those mesmerising pale blue eyes drifting away released Phil from his paralysis, he needed to talk to the singer.

At the bar his team was calling him over, wondering what had kept him standing frozen like a wet behind the ears private in the middle of a fire-fight. Although he moved out of the middle of the room, he waved a dismissive hand at them and waited for the singer to finish his set.

"PHIL! Get over here!" Tommy Erstman called out from the table they had snagged. It pulled Phil attention away from the stage long enough for the singer to slip from the spot light. A second of looking around showed him disappearing towards the men's room.

~

Finally, Clint caught a bit of luck. As he finished the last song, the mark separated from the group he had entered with and headed towards the restrooms. Flicking his guitar of his lap and into its stand (a chair) he signaled to the bar tender that he was heading out back.

Slipping noiselessly through the shadows his hand crept into a hidden pocket in his jeans, ready to draw the stiletto knife if the target was alone. Placing a shoulder against the wood of the door he pushed it open without the squeak it had had when he first took the job. A touch of oil had been his first action on this job, having a good idea that the hit would go down in the toilet. A flick of his sharp eyes showed the only occupant of the room was who he was looking for. Even better he was at the urinals which placed him with his back to the door and without any reflective surfaces to give his entry away. His had withdrew the slim blade and slid it into the jugular of the man in front of him, catching him unaware as Clint's other hand came up to cover his mouth and hold the dying man up. As bright red life blood slowed from its furious pumping he lowered the dead weight to the ground, pulled his knife free and spun to exit the room bare seconds after having entered it. 

~

Phil followed In the singer's wake. Getting to the entry of the hallway just in time to see him slip into the men's room. It might be a bit awkward to have his first meeting with his soul mate in the bathroom but at least he will be able to make himself known. With that in mind, he placed a hand on the warm wood and pushed his way in. 

~

Someone was entering the room and Clint now had a blood covered arm, had a dead body behind him, and had the murder weapon in his hand. 

~

A still growing blood pool and his soulmate standing in it was absolutely not what he was expecting. Which he then, numbly, proceeded to blurt out, "Well, this isn't what I was expecting." With a rough shake of his head he pulled himself from the fog the shock and thrown over him and looked a little closer at the body on the floor, recognising it as Sgt Kinsey, a quartermaster. While he didn't like the man, a knife to the throat seemed a bit extreme. 

~

Clint finished standing from the half crouch he was in and fingered the knife further into his hand, trying to hide it. The words punched him in the gut, the tone ringing odd. With narrowing eyes he took a step backwards. It would to good to be true that the blue eyes he had been staring at were owned by his soulmate who didn't seem at all rattled to find him standing over a dead body.

"Why would you be expecting anything?" He hedged.

"Meeting my soulmate in the bathroom of a seedy bar would suggest something more along the lines of get the fuck out. Even after that song." The man answered, confirming that he was Clint's soulmate.

“Also while I never liked Kinsey, not sure he really deserved to bleed out on a floor this dirty.” Clint’s soulmate made a show of peering closely at the grit on the floor. “If you’re interested I’m Phil.” He just continued talking.

“Clint.” He responded, slight wonder colouring his tone, giving it more emotion than he has ever used on a job before. "And I didn't even know his name." Clint could never stop himself from throwing shit out there to see how people react and he had to know what his soulmate would think of his career.

"Hitman. That makes more sense than it being personal." The newly identified Phil responded evenly.

The even non-judgmental tone that Phil used was more than Clint could have hoped for. Surging forward he pressed his lips to the other man's, wrapping his clean hand around Phil's upper arm, even in his moment of insanity he had enough presence of mind to keep the blood covered parts of himself from touching anything else. After a second of shocked stillness, Phil responded with enthusiastic abandon. Pulling away after an indeterminate time, Phil stuck a hand in his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper and a pen. He scribbled something down and handed it to the other man.

"I imagine that you need to move on right now. This is my email, I'm being deployed next week and will be out of the country for a while. I hope you keep in contact." A note of shyness and a good dose of uncertainty crept into his tone.

"I do have to leave, but I could see myself having some jobs coming up in your area of the world." Clint wasn't sure why he said that, he had never had any desire to step foot in a war zone let alone take any jobs there. The look of pleased happiness on Phil's face was quickly changing that though. Tucking the piece of paper into his pocket he slipped out of the room into the dark hallway, quickly disappearing from sight.

With a sigh Phil followed him out into the hallway and made his way back to his team, wondering if Clint will actually contact him and when they could see each other again. Only then realising that the other man had not given him anyway to contact him.


	2. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An interlude. So little Clint/Phil interaction that even if you squint its not visible. A bit of a look into the mindset of each man following the surprise of the bar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never meant to continue this story but my brain won't shut up so this happened. There are at least two more scenes/one-shots within this story that I want to write.
> 
> This ended up being longer than I meant for it to be and including scenes that were not planned and not including scenes that I had planned.
> 
> Oh well.  
> Enjoy.

Meeting his obviously tight-laced soulmate covered in blood at the tale end of a hit and him being accepting of it was absolutely _never_ a scenario that Clint had imagined and as he only tried to lie to himself about the important things, he had to admit that it threw him off his stride. Moving swiftly out of the bathroom, leaving Phil behind, he fingered the paper in his pocket and slipped into the night. A block from the Bar he paused at a payphone.

"What?" The angry snap from the other end of the phone was the Bartender, Sam's customary greeting.

"Its Louis, I've had to duck out for the rest of the night. There is a guy my age, blue eyes, brown hair. He's called Phil, can you give him my guitar to hold onto?" Clint couldn't exactly go back and give Phil his number, even though his whole body was screaming at him to do just that.

"What ever man." A dial tone was the rest of his answer.

With a grin Clint eased out of the phone box and away to meet his contact.

~

Walking back into the taproom, Phil edged between people to the corner where his team was. Settling onto a stool between Smitty and Thompson he wrapped a hand around the beer they had got for him and took a long pull. Completely forgetting his intention of only have one quick drink, he finished the glass in a second pull and made his way to the bar without speaking a word to his friends who were beginning to throw confused looks at each other at the Sgt's weird behaviour.

"Another." He placed the empty in front of the perpetually grumpy bartender and heaved a sigh.

A full glass thunked onto the sticky wood. "You Phil?" It was the first time Phil had ever heard the large bear-like man talk. His voice sounded also sounded like a bear, a low growl.

"Yes." Phil answered hesitantly, he had never had a bad experience with the man but an almost stranger suddenly knowing his name was generally not a good thing. Mind you in light of everything else that had happened in the last hour maybe it was just how this night was going to go.

"Louis had to run and asked that you take his guitar." A chin jut indicated the well worn instrument still on a chair at the back of the bar's small stage. With that the bartender turned to another patron.

The name threw Phil for a second before he realised that Clint would not have been using his own name if he was only here for a hit, that being said maybe 'Clint' wasn't his real name either. Picking up his beer Phil forced his way over to the stage and grabbed the neck of the guitar. At least he now had something solid to tell him the encounter in the bathroom had actually happened. Which just made him think of the body that had not yet been found. With that though he quickly drained his beer and headed for the door instead of back to the table.

Breathing in the fresh air, Phil decided that he would walk back to base rather than get a cab. The two beers in ten minutes closer to the legal limit than he was strictly comfortable with and a chance to clear his head even a little bit was needed.

~

Three days later the newly promoted Sergeant Phillip J. Coulson was sitting with his team in Iraq cradling a worn guitar in his lap, idly strumming a nothing tune. So far there had been no word for Clint and the next day they were humping out of Camp Victory, Baghdad for a three week protection detail. A supply train was going to be heading to Mosul and the last three had been hit hard.

The sun was beating down mercilessly on the men.

"I've not seen the guitar before Coulson, didn't know you played." Corporal Smitty broke into Phil's drifting thoughts.

"I don't play, not really. Its a friend's who gave it to me for the deployment." Most of the guys were accepting even in the face of Don't Ask, Don't Tell and single sex matches were even excluded from DADT but the initial meeting with Clint had been so odd, and the investigation into Kinsey's murder had just started as they left, that he didn't want to get into it. The thought that they had eight months here and it was teasing gold also crossed his mind.

A disturbingly similar dirty smile appeared on the three men sitting around Phil who had overheard, luckily the other five were engaged in their illegal game of no-holds barred poker and weren't listening.

"What's her name?" "Is that why you up and left the other night?" "Was she hot?" The three men talked over each other.

"No." Phil answered simply.

Thompson frowned in response, the man was a bruiser but there wasn't too much going on inside his head, confused as to which question Phil was answering rather than understanding it was a more general negative. Smitty guffawed, he knew a sore spot when he heard one. Kowalski just chuckled, he was the only one on the team who knew about Phil's preferences and his absolute determination to never kiss and tell.

It was going to be a long afternoon for Phil, he just knew it.

~

It had been a long six weeks since that night in the bar. After Clint had gotten out of town and collected his payment he went to ground. He hadn't had a job lined up to follow the hit as he hadn't been certain how long it would take, so he had had ample time to sit and stare and wear that piece of paper to a soft rag. He hadn't spent the whole time sitting on his ass though, through a couple of his contacts he had found out that Phil was actually Sergeant Phillip J. Coulson an Army Ranger from the Midwest. A small town boy that was doing very well for himself. His dad had passed years ago but his mum was still living in Manitowoc. A good guy and a complete and utter badass by all accounts.

He had wanted to contact him straight after finishing out the job but as he sat in front of the public access computer in a New Haven Library he started second guessing himself.  Why would a man who was so upstanding want anything to do with a soldier of fortune? Clint knew his worth and he held onto the few morals he had with a desperation that most people looking at his choice of career wouldn't understand. He knew himself and he had seen truly bad people, he was not one of them. That still didn't make him a _good man._ So he hadn't emailed that day, or the next, or that week, or the next. Then it got long enough that he started wondering if he had left it too long. He sat on that though for another few weeks, just making the situation worse. Unfortunately, Clint didn't have anyone that he could talk to about this. Actually, he didn't have anyone period. Clint hadn't talked to another human being in three weeks at this point and he realised he needed to do something to get out of his own head. Maybe he should look into lining up another job? But first food!

 

Twenty minutes later Clint ambled into a quiet family diner that was a block away from his run-down Bed-Stuy apartment. The waitress that always worked the grave yard shift was wiping down a table in the back corner. Clint liked her and was glad he hadn't realised the un-godly hour when he left home, this could be the answer to both his sustenance and not having people problems.

"Hey, Lynn!" Clint injected a level of chirp he didn't really feel into his words a he hopped onto the last stool at the bench.

Lynn smiled warmly at him as she circled the counter. She quietly placed a mug in front of Clint and turned around to get the coffee. After filling the cup she turned away.

"Can I ask you something?" Clint broke the silence before it could really settle.

Lynn turned back and looked at him, a question in her eyes. Clint had never been the one for small talk but he knew she would listen. She watched him closely waiting for him to go on. Clint knew she was going deaf and her dick of a manager used that to sticker her in the graveyard shift, but she didn't let it get her down, telling  Clint the one time he had asked that she preferred it because she studied during the day. It was remembering that conversation, the only one they had ever had outside ordering food, that was the drive behind Clint asking her for advice, she seemed to have her shit together and maybe she could help him gather in at least a little bit of his own.

"So I meant my soulmate but cause of reasons I had to sort of run away from him but have gave me his email before I left. That was weeks ago and I haven't email cause I'm apparently chicken shit!" Clint stumbled out, the self disgusted at his own cowardice evident, at least to his own ears. "What do I do?" He continued, the words coming out much more whiny then he intended.

Lynn stood there staring at him with stunned brown eyes before breaking into uncontrolled giggles. Clint wanted to take offense but her laugh was just too infectious and he knew the situation was ridiculous so he just let himself join her. It was exactly what he needed.

After getting themselves together and Lynn filling up his mug and getting one for herself, she lent against the counter. "Email him." They were the words he had been saying to himself for weeks but hearing them in her soft kind voice some how managed to convince him that it really was that simple.

"Ok! When I get home." Clint nodded.

"No. Now. We have internet and my laptop is out back." Lynn disappeared before he could formulate a response. She returned seconds later and plunked the heavy piece of tech in font of him. Opening the screen he logged into his email and send what would probably be the shorted email in the history of email.

 

Phil,

Its Clint.

Clint.

 

Not a shining moment for him, but it was done.

With it send a tension he hadn't realised he was carrying eased from his shoulders and he could start thinking about something other than the feel of warm lips on his and a string of letter.


	3. Contact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Contact has been made... sort of. (Slight language warning)

The first mission in country went about as well as any other the unit had ever had. Two weeks, almost to the hour, after leaving base they shambled back inside the fence. Dust, exhausted and other than a minor bullet graze across the top of Thompson's left bicep, unharmed. Luckily, or maybe unluckily, for Phil's concentration they had had internet for almost the whole time they were out. He had been checking it almost obsessively, but there had never been word from Clint. He hoped it was just because the other man was still covering his tracks from the job they had met on. If something didn't change soon his team was going to notice his distraction or he would get them all hurt a lot worse than a graze that would be pretty much healed in another few days.

Two steps through the well established twilight a fresh-faced private pulled them up.

“Unit number?” The boy standing directly in their path to food and sleep couldn’t have been a day over 17 and probably more likely to shoot _himself_ with a rifle than anything useful.

They all glared balefully him for long moments. The kid had more spine than you would think look at him and just stood there looking back.

Finally, Thompson answered “Ranger Bravo-Foxtrot.” Out of all of them he was the most eager for a proper shower, the shitty desert sand had worked its way under the field dressing and was annoying the fuck out of him.

“You’ve been moved to Section 7 Tent 52. If you don’t know where that is find a map. Debrief is tomorrow at 0500 in conference room 7-Alpha.” His message delivered he executed a perfect parade turn and marched off. Apparently, he didn’t want to deal with them any more than they wanted to deal with him.

“05-Fuck off!” Paulsen called after the retreating back. The anger heaviest in curse.

At 0445 the next morning after significantly less sleep than all of them needed, after spending a few hours the night before getting themselves and their kit in order, the nine men shuffled out of the tent half-wake. Shoving each other out of the way and being a nuisance to the few other people already up in the camp, they quickly made their way to the conference room, see demountable trailer, with a good ten minutes to spare.

The first hour of the debrief went as per normal, a quick round table after action discussion, updates from intelligence that would have been nice to have a week ago and were basically worthless now, and an outline of anything they had missed while away. The next _three hours_ explained why they were meeting at stupid o’clock after only rolling into base ten hours again. They were being sent out again at dawn the next day for a two week escort for some diplomatic bullshit.

Four hours after shoving into the meeting, the unit pushed back out into bright, hot sunlight. Almost in sync, nine pairs of sunglasses were slapped onto faces that turned towards the mess hall. Food, kit, sleep, redeploy. The standard pattern for any time they spent in country.

~

What had meant to be a quick two week mission outside the wire had spiralled into a long, dust, excruciating six weeks of slogging through two dust storms, a negotiation with a local tribal council that had quickly devolved into yelling and then guns, and culminated in Smitty breaking an ankle and Phil himself being winged by friendly fire from a British unit that had gotten lost in the second sand storm and mistaken them for the Taliban cell they had both been hunting. Phil was exhausted. He hadn’t had a chance to check his email since setting out. Clint hadn't emailed him before his unit left and he had had six long weeks to imagine all sorts of worse-case scenarios. As he lay awake in his skinny rack they started to cycle through his mind again.

What if Clint just wasn't interested? That Phil could easily discount on the basis of their first and only kiss and the gift of the battered guitar.

What if he had lost his number? It was unlikely a contract killer, as Clint so obviously was, would be that careless.

What if he had been caught for killing Kinsey or for another job he had taken? If it had been for Kinsey the unit would have heard through the Army's scarily efficient grapevine and if he had been caught for something else hopefully Clint will have had a chance to email him while Phil's unit was out field.

What if he was on a job? As long as it wasn't for something horrible, this was probably the second best option.

What if he had been injured? Again he should still have been able to contact Phil by now and he needed to suck it up and check his email.

What if he had been killed? No if it was that his words would have faded. When this thought had occurred to him in the middle of the short but intense firefight during which Smitty and he had been hurt, there had been a noticeable stutter in his response to a new enemy taking a shot at him. That pause in return fire was the cause of his own injury which was not a good outcome but at least his distraction had hurt himself rather than one of his team mates Later that night he had had to take a good ten minutes to convince his heart to get on board with his brain in recognising that his words were still there so Clint was alive.

What if he had emailed? The best option. The only one he couldn't convince himself was an actual possibility.

For all the time that Phil spent thinking about why Clint had not emailed between their meeting and when Phil's unit had lost contact, it never occurred to him that Clint might be scared. It was never half formed in his mind as a possibility, that the attractive, brash assassin might be scared of him. The man many people had dismissed as Bland and Boring and Geeky. Phil knew his worth but he was also self aware enough to recognise that people underestimated him and he had used that to his advantage on more than one occasion.

For an hour Phil lay in the half dark of his unit's tent and listened the rest of the unit, sans Smitty who was still in medical, shift on their cots and did his best not to aggravate his own injury. He mentally worked though the same checklist as he had been working through and expanding for six weeks, trying to weight the likelihood of each option and only managed to convince himself that in all likelihood there would be no email waiting for him.

Thoroughly fed up with himself he silently rolled of him cot, grabbed his boots, and slipped out of the tent before he could disturb any of the others who deserved as much rest as they could snatch before they headed back out. Standing with the tent's flap just behind him, Phil took a deep breath of the achingly dry desert air and took a moment to just look at the swathes of stars looking down on him.

With the lack of the light pollution that diluted the skies over America, he was able to pick out him favourite, Kaus Media part of the Sagitarius constellation, just rising over the eastern horizon.  After allowing himself a few seconds to admire the celestial view, he finally pulled his boots on and quietly made his way to the rec center were he could check the personal email address he had given to Clint. He nodded to the few other insomniacs ghosting through the building in the pre-dawn darkness. Before logging on to the last computer, tucked up in a shadowed corner.

A waterfall of un-read messages loaded into his inbox. Halfway down a message from an unknown sender stood out against the surrounding spam and family well-wishes. With a shaking hand Phil clicked it open. For a second the blank white screen caused him to think he was having an aneurysm. A second of blinking his eyes at the glare finally resolved the few characters on the screen into something intelligible.

_Phil,_

_Its Clint._

_Clint._

A sharp bark of laughter ripped from his throat, drawing the attention of, and a scowl from, the rooms only other occupant. The absurdity of the short message was more than his sleep addled brain could safely handle, or at least that is what he told himself the next day when he realised his response had not been much better.

_Clint,_

_Awesome._

_Phil._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was originally meant to include more but I loved the ridiculousness of ending it here. Either way I finished my university semester last friday so hopefully updating will be a bit more often (not regular, never ever regular sorry... but not really).  
> Love,  
> Celt


	4. Back Again

The night after sending the email to Phil, Clint found himself back at the dinner drinking coffee at three in the morning. Clint stared down at the black liquid in his mug, lost in thought. He hadn't been expecting the calm that had overcome him in the last 24 hours. With sending the email he had realised that he did want contact with his soulmate. He promised himself, and Phil, that the next message would have more than four words in it.

A hip nocked against the unstable table he was hunched over, jolting him out of his thoughts. Clint flushed at having been snuck up on and gave Lynn a guilty half smile in apology when he realised she had been standing there for a while.

"Sorry." He mumbled up at her.

Lynn filled up his mug with fresh coffee before slumping into the seat across from him.

"It's cool. Whatcha thinkin' so hard about?"

Clint looked around the small restaurant to find he was the only customer and from the stack of textbooks on the counter it had probably been a while since anyone else was here.

"That email." He answered after a minute.

"He respond already?" Lynn's words were coated in surprise. She knew 'The Soulmate' was deployed with the Army so hadn't really expected him to respond so quickly.

"Nah," Clint drawled. "Just thinking that I feel better having sent it. It'll probably take a while for him to get back to me."  Clint wrapped both hands around the warm cup and drew it in close to his chest like a security blanket against his other thoughts. He had heard back from one of his contacts earlier in the day, well technically yesterday but whatever, about more information on Phil Coulson. Stefano, a criminal informant for the FBI, had been able to dig up also a complete dossier on his soulmate (not that Stefano knew that's what it was). The documents had laid out a quiet suburban up bringing with two loving parents. A bit of trouble in high school when his preferences became known but otherwise a clean shot into the Army at eighteen, the youngest sergeant in his unit and working on a distance degree in history on the side. It didn't take Clint long to come to the conclusion that his soulmate was a sharp, collected, badass that probably had ice running through his veins if his reaction to the circumstances of their meeting was any indication.

How the fuck was he going to measure up? Clint scowled to himself. He knew his value, being the World's Greatest Marksman was no small thing and he had picked up more than a little of four languages growing up the way he did, but that still didn't make him the guy you took home to mom and pop in the 'burbs.

In the time Clint had been lost in thought, Lynn had wandered off to serve a young woman that had slipped into the furthest table from Clint and surrounded herself with a pile of high school textbooks and a beat up laptop. He spent a few minutes, probably more than he should have, watching her work, wondering why someone so young was out at 3.30 am when she should be at home in bed. Before swinging his sharp gaze to the counter where Lynn was once again thumbing through her accounting homework.

Later he would be a little embarrassed by the sound that erupted from his mouth, but in the moment he was too excited to care. The loud "Aha!" echoed in the quiet space and both women jumped and looked at him, the other customer shot him a quick glare and returned to her work, while Lynn raised a single eyebrow at him and quirked her mouth up in a grin. Silently asking "What the fuck?", another reason to appreciate the quiet waitress aside from her coffee making skills.

"School." He told her.

"What?" She answered.

At some point the would probably have to start using more than one word at a time and looks to communicate but so far tonight it was working for them.

"I should go to school. That's a thing people can do right?" Why was he still talking? "Go back to school and get their GED or some shit?"

"Sure." He had managed more than one word, why couldn't she.

"Phil's smart, he's going to college. So, I figure gotta keep up, right?" He wasn't sure why getting Lynn to agree was so important, he had had all of two conversations with the woman, she shouldn't matter to him. But she had listened and helped last night when the indecision had been cutting him up.

"Yeah it's something people do." The girl joined their conversation. Lynn nodded in agreement.

"Cool." The grin Clint shot her and Lynn was wide enough to hurt, but this was something he could do, a way to make himself better. Something he could tell Phil about outside his job of killing people.

With a nod to himself, Clint slipped out of his chair and sauntered out the door. If he was going to do this shit, why not get a jump on it.

~

At ten past midnight three days later, Clint pushed through glass door into a quiet restaurant, a sheaf of papers clutched in one hand. At the tinkle of the bell Lynn looked up from the counter, her customer service smile plastered across her face. On seeing Clint, the look melted into something much more genuine.

“Any response?” She called out, already placing a mug on the counter and reaching for the half-full coffee pot.

“Not yet.” Clint had a feeling this would become their default greeting until something changed. To move the topic away from his pathetic love-life he waved the papers in her general direction, taking a seat at the counter at the same time. “I’ve gone back to school! Have you seen the shit I’m gonna have’ta do? Four tests.”

“That’s generally how school goes. Yes.” She responded.

“I picked up some practice shit. Figured I’d study here when I’m in town.” Clint had noticed an increase in wary people on the streets since he got home this time. Better to be out and about and know what was going on then stuck in his shitty apartment and getting blindsided.

“Sure.” Lynn shrugged at him, filled up both of their mugs and returned her attention to her books.

Taking the casual dismissal intended, ie acceptance of his continued presence, Clint dug a pencil out of his pocket and turned his attention to his own papers.

~

Over the next few weeks, they settled into an easy routine. On nights when he wasn’t out of the city on quick jobs, not every night but always at least twice a week, Clint swaggered into the diner sometime between ten pm and 1 am, and they spent a few hours in quiet study. Only really talking when he arrived and left. Some nights the high school girl was also there and they exchanged quiet questions and answers when something stumped one of them, although both of them would just stare dumbly when Lynn verbalised one of her homework questions.

Finally, three weeks after the first email, Phil emailed back.

Clint tumbled through the diner door not even two minutes after Lynn had clocked on.

“HE EMAILED!” Clint shouted. Every customer in the half full restaurant turned and stared at him. Normally the unexpected attention would grate, but Clint was too excited to care this evening.

Lynn fucking BEAMED at him. “Sit down idiot, we’ll talk later.” She laughed, waving at the other patrons. “I’m working.”

“Right. Sorry.” Clint’s shoulders crept up to his ears and he slunk into a two person table in the back corner. There he stayed as the late dinner crowd filtered in and out, until an hour and a half later it was once again just him and Lynn in the room.

“Ok, let’s see it.” Lynn collapsed, not particularly gracefully, into a sprawl across from him. The exhaustion weighing down her features was only slightly lessened by the smile she shot him. Exams were kicking her ass.

“Here.” Clint slid his laptop across to her.

_Clint,_

_Awesome._

_Phil._

Three words. They had been waiting for weeks and he only sent three words.

“What do I say to that?” Clint whined. Was Phil annoyed that he had contacted him? Was he annoyed that he hadn’t contacted him sooner? Maybe he was just exhausted? Or couldn’t send anything longer, he was in an active war zone.

“At this point send anything. Just make sure it’s longer than your last one.” Lynn lifted an eyebrow at him. “Tell him about the GED, or the fucken’ weather. It doesn’t matter.”

“Ok, OK. I can do this.” Clint pulled the laptop back towards himself and stared at the screen, hands poised above the letters for way too long.

“Write something.” Lynn slapped his shoulder as she got up from the table. Staring at a guy staring at a screen was boring and she had her own shit to do.

“Right.”

_Hi Phil,_

_Sorry about taking so long. Took a while to get home._

(Not super true but close enough.)

_I’m in New York and its starting to get freezing here. I recon its gonna be a cold one._

(The fuck was he talking about?)

_I made a friend, Lynn, she works at a diner close to my place and lets me study here. I’m gonna get my GED._

(God, make him stop.)

_Anyway. Hope things aren’t blowing up to bad where you are. Stay safe please._

_Clint._

Aw fuck it, Clint thought as he pressed send, it was better than the last one and what was he meant to write to someone he had exchanged all of two sentences and a couple as short as shit emails?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of a filler but I actually have a longer term plan for this now so that's something at least...


	5. Communication is Key

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In celebration of this story having 1234 hits, here is a new chapter. Look, shit like that amuse me and I like celebrating shit like that OK? OK.

The next night Phil once again found himself in the darkest corner of the rec centre. Why he was back so quickly when Clint had taken so long to email the first time he wasn't sure. His team had had a briefing for their next mission earlier in the day, they had four more days in the green zone before they headed out for a four week mission beyond the wire. Watching the computer run through its start-up procedures, Phil decided that if there was no response before he left, he would send a longer email letting Clint know he would be out of range he for a while. Communication had to start somewhere… or at least that is what his mother always told him and his parents had been together since grade school, so she must know something.

The mission they were being sent on sounded like it should be easy enough, although so had the last one he thought wryly. Phil privately hoped this one would be a bit smoother than that mission had turned out to be. He would never vocalise that thought to the rest of the team, it would be asking for things to go wrong and thus giving one of his idiots someone to blame. Ranger's were a superstitious bunch of assholes, Phil thought fondly.

Finally the computer started and absently he typed in his login credentials, muscle memory allowing him to get the sequence of letter and numbers right without having to pay too much attention. He sat back again as the slow internet connection took it's time loading his inbox. The first email in the list was from the same email address Clint had used last time. Phil sat there and stared at it in shock for a solid minute before remembering himself and opening it up. This letter was significantly longer than the last.

_Hi Phil,_

_Sorry about taking so long. Took a while to get home._

_I’m in New York and its starting to get freezing here. I recon its gonna be a cold one._

_I made a friend, Lynn, she works at a diner close to my place and lets me study here. I’m gonna get my GED._

_Anyway. Hope things aren’t blowing up to bad where you are. Stay safe please._

_Clint._

The slightly awkward, obviously unsure tone of the words brought a small, shy smile to Phil’s face. It was sweet. Though Clint’s excitement at having made a friend was heartbreaking, did he not have anyone in his life that he felt making a friend was news worthy? Or maybe he just wasn't sure what to write about? If they made it work would he come to resent Phil being away so much if he was that deprived of social contact?

His mind spinning, Phil quickly opened a response tab and carefully started drafting a reply.

_Hi Clint,_

_That's ok. Glad you got home safe. Are you from New York originally? I'm from Wisconsin, my mom still lives there._

_I envy you the cold, it's hotter than the ass end of hell here._

_I look forward to meeting Lynn.  What made you go back to school? Sorry, if that's too personal, I wrote it and deleted it ten times before deciding to leave it in. If you don't want to answer that's fine. Even if you don't want to answer, I'll tell you things about myself. My mom says communication has to start somewhere, so it may as well be with me._

_I'm at school too so maybe we can study together when I get back. If you want to meet up._

_Things are ok here. A few things have blown up which is why I took a few weeks to respond to your first email. I'll stay as safe as I can but I can't promise anything, sorry._

_Are you working at the moment?_

_Best,_

_Phil._

Phil went over the email an inordinate number of times before deciding there was nothing he could do. If he wanted to start building something he has to open some of those doors even if Clint wasn't ready to walk through them, although he might be. He dropped his head into his hands, he was tying himself into knots second guessing himself. Their meeting had been so unique and they hadn't had a chance to talk afterwards. But Clint had given his guitar to Phil and that had to mean something right? Before he could delete the message again Phil clicked send and hoped for the best.

He waited for the little swooping sound that signified that the message had been sent before logging off and wandering back out into the dark night. Phil pulled in a deep breath of dusty air and shivered slightly in the breeze that had lifted the day's oppressive heat. He wasn't ready to return to his small bunk but had not reason to hang around the rec centre so wandered towards the guard posts. He would see who was on tonight and, if they were someone he liked, if they wanted a cup of coffee or something.

~

It was Friday evening and a D grade action movie was blasting its way across Clint's shitty tv. Clint himself was sprawled, loose limbed, across his sagging, stained couch  and completely ignoring the movie. He was mindlessly amusing himself with a pack of pushpins he had found in his junk draw, launching them at his ceiling to draw a checked pattern. The ping of an incoming email startled him so much that he fell off his couch onto the slightly musty rug covering his wood floor. For a second he lay on the floor, questioning the life choices that had brought him to end up in such an undignified heap before the origin of the noise registered and he scrambled up and across the room. He flung himself into a chair at his round dining table and pulled the laptop towards himself, clicking into his personal inbox. The new email was from P. Coulson and Clint opened it quickly read through it.

Chuckling his way through the email he started answering before all the implications of some of the questions occurred to him. It had been along time since anyone had cared enough to ask about his past, let alone since he wanted to answer. He didn't really know Phil, he couldn't know if he trusted him enough to tell Phil about his past. Loosing some of the lightness the email he lit in his chest, Clint flicked back to the original email and read it again, chewing on his lip in thought. He wasn't ready to tell Phil where he was from, it would open up questions he didn't want to answer. Especially not via email. But, he was right they needed to talk to get trust. Maybe he could tell him about something else?

_Hey,_

_I've been in New York for a year or so now. Move around alot before that. Where in Wisconsin are you from? Maybe Ive been there?_

_It'll start snowing soon and then you'll be happy for the heat there._

_Lynn's great! She's helping with my english. It was just time you know?_ (he wasn't going to tell Phil he went back cause of him, maybe one day but not know.) _Im enjoying the math parts but not the social science crap. Let me know when you are gonna be back in the US and we can see about catching up._

_Did you blow stuff up or did someone else? Explosions can be fun if you werent hurt in it._

_I have been working a little bit, mostly just quick jobs in the East Coast. Nothing big._

_Bye,_

_Clint_

Not the most eloquent piece of writing ever, but it would do. He read through it a few times before sending it. He hoped it was right. Clint had never been good at talking to people and talking to people without being able to see them was even worse. He needed their facial expression and body language and tone of voice to find out what they were really saying. Otherwise he felt like he was miss-reading everything, reading too much into the wrong things and not enough into others.

God, maybe it was time to get back into the swing of jobs. He was never this introspective and it was beginning to screw with his mind. Right, he thought, if he was going to take some bigger jobs he needed to reach out to some people to see what was out there.

With a nod to himself, he stood up, pulled on a jacket and slipped out of the door. He would go talk to Tim at the laundromat in Ridgeview, see if he had anything.

**Author's Note:**

> More added as the muse hits me. ATM there is a little bit of a plan for this but it is more an exercise in letting the words and inspiration take me where it will.


End file.
